To celebrate his arrival, Mrs. Stornaway was to give an evening party which was to combine congratulatory welcome with a touch of condolence for the past and assurance for the future.
“We must let him see,” said Mrs. Stornaway, “that Willowfield has its attractions.”
Its attractions did not present themselves as vividly to John Baird as might have been hoped, when he descended from the train at the depot. He had spent two or three days in Boston with a view to taking his change gradually, but he found himself not as fully prepared for Willowfield as he could have wished. He was not entirely prepared for Mrs. Stornaway, who hurried towards them with exultation on her large, stupid face, and, after effusive embraces, bustled with them towards an elderly woman who had evidently accompanied her.
“See, here’s Miss Amory Starkweather!” she exclaimed. “She came with me to meet you. Just see how Annie’s grown, Miss Amory.”
Miss Amory was a thin woman with a strong-featured countenance and deep-set, observing eyes. They were eyes whose expression suggested that they had made many painful discoveries in the course of their owner’s life.
John Baird rather lighted up for a moment when he caught sight of her.
“I am glad to see you, Miss Amory,” he said.
“Thank you,” she answered. “I hope you are as well as you look.”
“We’re so delighted,” Mrs. Stornaway announced, as if to the bystanders. “Everybody in Willowfield is so delighted to have you back again. The church has not seemed the same place. The man who took your place—Mr. Jeramy, you know—you haven’t any idea how unpopular——”
“Excuse me,” said Baird, “I must speak to Latimer. Where is Latimer, Annie?”